


Mistakes Were Made: The Epic of Gilgamesh

by eag



Series: Mistakes Were Made [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Agender Character, All that is only very lightly referenced I hope and not very graphic, Ancient History, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Food, Friendship, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Good Omens and The Epic of Gilgamesh, I just found those tags, I think this might be a crossover, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, Nonbinary Character, Other, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Sumerian Mythology - Freeform, The slowest burn in history, Unrequited Love, and I should probably warn you for, however there is probably a lot of graphic theological heterodoxy and heresy, if you don't that's okay, if you know who Shamhat you can probably see where this is going, is this a crossover?, wilderness camping date night(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-29 04:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: Almost five thousand years ago in ancient Mesopotamia, Aziraphale and Crowley (or rather, Crawley) manage to get themselves mixed up in a series of events that would later be called The Epic of Gilgamesh.  To complete his Heaven-sent mission, and civilize a wild man named Enkidu, Aziraphale must escort Crawley on a long journey into the wilderness.  And maybe also introduce Crawley to dining out and human food.  At the same time, to complete his Hell-sent mission and civilize the same wild man, Crawley has to be escorted by Aziraphale on a long journey into the wilderness.  And also maybe to have some strong new feelings that the demon had never had before...Of course, mistakes were made...This is for everyone who wanted more adventures of Aziraphale and Crowley throughout time and history, and especially those who want more adventures that cross into mythology.





	1. Prologue: As is in Heaven...

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags for warnings.

**Head Office, 2701 BC**

“Look, is it really necessary to get humans involved? Why don't I just try to set him on the right path? Of course it might take a little longer than this other method, but I'm sure I can turn this Gilgamesh around. After all, he's been a good king so far what with all the public works and city wall building, but for-”

“Are you questioning the Divine Will?” Gabriel asked, smoothing a hand over his fine linens. “Because this comes directly from the Powers.”

“No, not at all.” Aziraphale felt himself wilting before the authority that had been vested in Gabriel. 

“Now say it back to me,” Gabriel said, every word dripping with contempt. “I just want to hear that you know what you're supposed to be doing.”

“So.” Aziraphale smoothed his woolly skirts and straightened the wool cloth draped across his chest, adjusting the golden pin holding the cloth close and drawing up every cubit of dignity he had left. “First I need to go to the wilderness for a few days and get a look at the wild man. Enkidu. Set out some hunting gear and such for him to wreck. Then I'm to go to Uruk. There I'm to meet with the king, Gilgamesh, dressed as a hunter.”

“Trapper,” Gabriel corrected him.

“I thought it was a hunter who was also a trapper. I'm not sure why that's important at all but all right, a trapper. Fine. After I report to Gilgamesh about Enkidu tearing up my traps, he'll give me orders but they'll be the same orders as from Heaven. To capture and civilize Enkidu, I need to find a maiden-”

“Harlot,” Gabriel corrected. “You know, a prostitute.”

“A young woman. Named Shamhat. And escort her to the wilderness, to the watering hole where Enkidu was last seen where she will be used as bait. And then I'll tell her to take off her clothes and reveal her...”

“Say it,” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale was mortified. “Oh, I can't say it! Why can't we try my way? I think-”

“You're not here to think, you're here to do as you're told.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth.

“Well?” Gabriel asked. “Any other objections?”

Aziraphale stared at the floor, and thought of all the lives and the worlds beneath their feet. “I know what to do and I will do it, rest assured. You can count on that wild man getting civilized. I will have Enkidu tamed and taken to Uruk as soon as possible.”

“Good. Sign, please.” Gabriel gestured and a low-ranked angel dressed in the drab short tunic of a servant brought over a soft clay tablet on a golden tray.

Aziraphale pulled off his golden ring and rolled it carefully across a blank part of the tablet. Though his ring did not resemble a cylinder seal in any way, it miraculously left the impression on clay in crisp cuneiform:

**Aziraphale  
** **Angel of the Eastern Gate**  
**Principality**  
**A Guardian of Eden**  
**Servant of the Lord God**

And beside the text, a small representation of himself standing at the great walls of Eden, a flaming sword in hand and far too many eyes and wings for mortal eyes to safely behold.

“There, that wasn't so hard was it? Now climb on back down that ladder to Earth and get to work.”

“Yes, Gabriel. Right away,” Aziraphale sighed. 

At least Uruk had good fried fish.


	2. ...as it is on Earth

**Mesopotamia, 2701 BC, about an hour later**

“Excuse me? Excuse me!” Aziraphale pushed his way through the seething crowd on the dusty street. All around, vendors shouted to be heard above the racket. Everything in the world could be traded for in the markets of Uruk: silver from Anatolia, copper from the Sinai, carnelian from the Indus Valley, lapis lazuli from Central Asia, linen and gold and grain and all manner of fine things from Egypt. Now that the sun had set upon the land and some of the heat dissipated, it seemed that everyone in Uruk was out and about, getting some business done while there was still some lingering light.

Aziraphale turned to a fruit merchant who was trying to sell him a basket of pomegrantes.

“Might I trouble you to direct me to the tavern of the ram in a thicket... Oh! There is no need for such language!”

It wasn't as if the angel hadn't been to Uruk before; everyone who was anyone had been to Uruk. But the city was a lot bigger now than he remembered it and the last time he had been here the baked-brick walls and the grand new temple district hadn't been put up yet so Aziraphale felt turned around. He had spent the last few years traveling back from the great mound cities of the Ohio River Valley, though it was not called that yet and it was certainly much nicer than it is today. 

“A little turned around, are we?” A tall woman caught him gently by the elbow, whisking him out of the way of a rampaging ox cart. 

“Oh! You saved me! I would really have hated to have been discorporated by something as silly as an oxcart. Would be written up, that's what would have happened, and me already on a tight schedule and... Oh! Oh my goodness! Crawley, is that you?”

“Well, yes. For now.” Crawley glanced around, pulling the black fold of a woolen robe tighter over long dark curls that cascaded down past narrow shoulders. “Do us a favor now, will you? Call me Shamhat.”

*****

“Do you like this? I may or may not have had a hand in suggesting dining outside. Truly I don't remember. But I think it's quite lovely with the breeze coming from the river and all.”

In the bright moonlight, Crawley watched a human kneading dough in a clay bowl down in the courtyard below. Crawley leaned back in the low-backed chair, feeling something inside relax a little. This wasn't the first time running into the angel; there had been many other encounters over the millennia and a half of Earth's existence of course, but something seemed different about this and Crawley thought that perhaps this would be a much longer encounter than usual. That seemed vaguely nice in a way that the demon could not quite identify.

Away from the bustle of the street, Crawley could appreciate Uruk a little bit more, sitting under a thatched awning set up on the roof of a squat building beside a canal, watching the shield of the moon gleam silver upon the dark flowing waters.

Surely Uruk was nice to visit, Crawley thought, but you wouldn't want to live here.

“Oh, you must try this.”

“Hmm? What's that?” Crawley looked up, slitted pupils focusing on the angel who seemed strangely exuberant. Curious, Crawley began to pay more attention to what Aziraphale was doing. Which seemed like putting human-made things into his mouth with happy sounds of pleasure.

“The fried fish here is excellent. I don't mean here like this specific tavern, I mean here like the entire city of Uruk. They're famous for it. And the cheese! It's flavored with sweet herbs. Truly splendid. They've outdone themselves. Try it with the honey or better yet, eat it with butter and bread.”

“Never tried it.”

“Never tried what?”

“The food.” Crawley shrugged. “I mean, I've eaten things, that's not really new. Fuel and all. And water's always good except when it's bad. But...their food?”

“You mean, all this time, you've never even had bread? Pies? Soup? Wine?”

Crawley shrugged. “Why would I? It's...not that important is it?”

“Crawley. I mean, Shamhat.” Aziraphale leaned in, his blue eyes intense with some unspoken emotion. “It has been well over a thousand years since the Creation. A thousand and a half. You're telling me you haven't tried their food?”

Crawley shrugged again. “Not...intentionally, no. Maybe here and there a little by accident but on purpose? No. I like fruits just fine. And I can catch my own meat if I want it. Fish is better eaten whole anyway. And wiggling.” With a smirk of amusement Crawley let that tongue slip out, the real tongue, forked and slithery just to see the angel's expression but the angel wasn't looking.

Instead, Aziraphale was busy waving down a servant and speaking to them in intense, hushed tones, before sending them off in a rush.

“I won't stand for this. It is appalling. I know we're on...opposite sides, but really. You are missing out on the world here, and I won't have it.”

“Ngh?”

The servant brought back three things. The first was a small serving dish, another a large vessel with two drinking straws, and finally a smooth fired clay bowl, its sides inscribed with geometric slashes from an artisan's knife.

“Let me tempt you,” Aziraphale said, eyes glittering with amusement, “to human foods that I think you shall enjoy. First, try this.” Aziraphale broke off a piece of a cake made with dates and apples.

“Too sweet.” Crawley didn't even have to taste it to know, just the smell of it alone made the nose wrinkle. “I like fruit well enough but this is too many fruits put together. And does anyone really like dates all that much?”

“All right, but if you eat it with the cheese...”

“Eh,” said Crawley. “And this. I don't see what you find interesting about this.” Crawley sniffed the air over the drinking vessel, tasting it with the tip of a forked tongue. “Something smells odd. Off maybe. Like when fruit's too ripe on the vine and is going all fermenty-yeasty.”

“This is beer. Beer with herbs and honey to be precise. The humans have been perfecting it for ages. They make it from _bappiru bread_. That's made from barley. Isn't that clever and marvelous? I remember when barley was hardly a thing, and now it's nearly everywhere and they make so many delicious things with it.”

“Beer.” Crawley made a face. “And you drink it? On purpose?”

“The humans love it. Puts cheer in their hearts. I have picked up a fondness for it from them. They've been making it for some time now and it just keeps getting better. It's very thick so you'll want to sip it through the straw, you don't want to get any bitter chunks.”

“...that's not really a recommendation.” Crawley tried it and made a face, mouth working as if it were trying to rid of a bad flavor. “That is certainly an acquired taste. And you're sure human food is good?”

“All right, fine. Maybe you have a point,” Aziraphale sighed, feeling defeated. “At least try the soup before it gets cold.” 

Crawley cupped cool hands around the ceramic bowl. It was warm and the steam that wafted off of it made him lean in to feel the heat. Smelling it both with tongue and nose, Crawley could taste strange aromatics, animal fats, greens...a melange of some things that Crawley had never considered to eat separately, much less together.

“Why's it so hot? Did someone just kill it?”

“Oh no, you don't _kill_ soup, you make it. You put things into a big pot and stir it around. Like that, over there.” Aziraphale pointed down at the kitchens in the lower level courtyard where someone was stirring the contents of a pot.

Crawley picked up the bowl and took a sip. Surprisingly it was good, very good, and so Crawley took another sip.

“What's in it?”

“Salted fish, fat-tailed sheep, leeks, onions, garlic, chickpeas, mustard greens, and milk. Oh, and spices. What kind, I wouldn't know. Cumin, maybe?”

“Tastes saltier than blood. And hotter. I like it.” Crawley drank more of the broth, revealing bits of plant matter and meat underneath. “And then what, what do you do with the rest?”

“Take some bread like this with your right hand, and then you scoop it up and...oh yes, like that!”

“I think I like soup,” Crawley confessed.


	3. The Song of the Harper

“So what are you doing in Uruk?” Aziraphale tried to say it as neutrally as possible, but then he saw Crawley – no, Shamhat – recoil, tense. With a pang of guilt, Aziraphale realized he had said the wrong thing and had sent the course of this pleasant evening straight to ruin.

“What are _you_ doing in Uruk?” Crawley gave him a hard, flat look.

“From the sound of your name, probably the same thing you are,” Aziraphale drooped.

“Yeah. Good guess.” With narrowed eyes, Crawley looked away, before hunching deeper into the folds of the black wool robe, drawing it tight around slim shoulders.

“So you're Shamhat?” Aziraphale sighed, remembering his instructions.

“Obviously not. But for all intents and purposes, you can consider me Shamhat.” 

“You can't be Shamhat, Crawley. Look, I need the real thing. The real Shamhat.” Aziraphale leaned in again, hoping to meet Crawley's eyes but Crawley had looked away. Crawley didn't like it; the desperation in the angel's voice sent an unpleasant sensation through Crawley, disturbing long buried memories that never could stay quite buried.

“Look, if you want the real Shamhat, she's right over there. Barely a slip of a thing if you ask me. Just a temple initiate fallen on hard times. Hardly fit to carry a basket of figs, much less the responsibility of saving Uruk.” Crawley pointed and Aziraphale looked. True to the demon's word, this was a serving girl, her short skirt whisking by her knees as she dragged the broom over the mudbrick floor.

“Why, she's just a child.” Aziraphale was aghast.

“You have your instructions and I have mine too.” Crawley scowled, fingers tangled tight in the folds of cloth. “But it's just not...right to send her out like that. A child in the wilderness to be bait for a wild man? Through fornication? Impossible.”

“So you're Shamhat.”

“So I'm Shamhat.” Crawley managed a look that was almost a grin, an expression that was almost shy. “Why not? It won't make much of a difference to our respective head offices. Temptation is temptation, no matter who's doing the tempting. And wouldn't a demon do it better than a human?”

“I have very clear instructions.” But even Aziraphale could tell that there was no conviction to his own words.

“And so do I. But I'm ignoring them. You could too, if you wanted to. Look, you were told to find a young woman named Shamhat. There's probably what, thirty? Forty? A hundred Shamhats in the greater Uruk-the-Sheepfold metropolitan area? And right now, I'm a young woman named Shamhat.” Crawley gestured with a languid elegance that hinted at sensuality. “I. Have been practicing. See, already playing the part.”

“Playing the part of the Devil! You're not Shamhat, you're a representative of the Adversary, that's what!” But then Aziraphale looked over at the real Shamhat, padding about softly on bare feet as she worked, and he felt his will to thwart Crawley crumbling.

“What's one human or another to Heaven or Hell? Head offices can hardly tell them apart once we get past the kings and chiefs of this world. Just tell them you found Shamhat and took her into the wilderness.”

“I found trouble,” Aziraphale said slowly and carefully, “and if I don't follow the orders, if I don't obey...there will be trouble.”

Crawley met his eyes. “I know it's hard to disobey,” Crawley said. “But...you do remember the Flood.”

“Oh. Right.” Aziraphale turned pale. “I remember.” His voice was soft, barely a murmur.

For a moment neither spoke, but then Crawley leaned forward, speaking in a low and insistent voice.

“Like I said, I have been practicing. Since then. Call it civil disobedience if you will, but I've noticed over the years that head office doesn't care how it's done as long as it appears done. It's just up to you how you word your correspondence to them.” Crawley sat up. “I'd suggest you think it over but we don't have much time. Not that time really matters but still, I think they want it to be done soon, before the next turn of the moon. Everything's being timed to some festival or another down here.”

“...okay, fine. Maybe just this once you're right. They just want a young woman named Shamhat who's willing to do the work. Any Shamhat will do.”

“Any Shamhat will do.” Crawley gestured expansively, setting hands down on the table, leaning over toward the angel as if to say something more, but if there was indeed more to be said, it was interrupted by the song of the harper.

It was an old song, a song that had been passed down through generations like a treasured family heirloom and they looked at each other in surprise, recognizing it. Both of them had heard it once at the same banquet in Abydos almost two hundred years ago and here it was again now, having traveled long and dusty roads through time and ancient trade routes far from its home. The words were the same even if some of the stresses were different and the accent unusual. The harper sang it very slowly in a deep and rich voice, so that for a brief moment both angel and demon forgot why they were there. Time slipped away meaningless as the music streamed beneath the harper's fingertips.

_Spend a happy day, rejoice in the sweetest perfumes._  
_Adorn the neck and arms of your wife with lotus flowers_  
_And keep your love once seated always at your side._  
_Call no halt to music and dance, but bid all care begone._  
_Spare thought for nothing but pleasure for soon your turn will come_  
_To journey to the land of silence._


	4. Clothing and Portable Wealth

It was a long journey to the wilderness. More and more settlements and farms had been built since either had last been here and wherever they looked there were people going about their business: farming or traveling, trading, borrowing, gossiping, or just visiting.

Aziraphale and Crawley passed a group of workers repairing a levee, and then another group dredging a muddy canal, the dredging workers hauling the clay silt in dripping rush baskets to the levee workers to build up the embankment. Work songs and chants filled the air as humans cooperated to form the foundations of civilization, taming the water for the farms that sprouted up throughout the vast plain.

They walked under the unrelenting heat of the sun for hours in silence following a well-trodden path away from the cities of men, Crawley by the left-hand side of the angel.

“To be honest, I'm glad to have you here,” Crawley said suddenly and the angel was so surprised that he tripped, nearly falling on his face, but Crawley caught Aziraphale by the elbow before he could stumble further.

“R-really?” Aziraphale quickly recovered, shaking Crawley's hand off. This was the first time Crawley had spoken since the night before. “Why is that?”

“Safer this way. Traveling together.” Crawley glared at a bandit hiding behind some thorny scrub, daring the human to attack, but the human thought twice at the sight of fangs and scattered down the winding road, dragging his befuddled friends with him. 

“Not safe at all traveling these days.”

“No, not safe at all.” Crawley scowled. “Hasn't been safe for a long time. Especially if you're traveling alone. They can really surprise you sometimes, popping out of cunning hiding places. Can't always spot them coming. Did you know that it's much easier looking like what the humans call a man? Most they do is try to rob you.”

“Oh yes. I learned that the hard way early on. I've been carried off more than once in a local war or raid you know. Dreadful. Nearly got discorporated more than once. I don't know what they thought I was,” Aziraphale made a face. “I've found it's better to look and dress like, you know, what you said, what they call a man. Been doing it for some time now. That way there's less bother and trouble.”

“Clever. But it shouldn't have to be that way. I should be allowed to go about the world as I am without bother and trouble.” Crawley tossed back curling locks that gleamed dark copper in the sunlight. “You know what's really outrageous? Once you stand next to a man and look like property yourself, then there's less of a chance of getting carried off like so many camels and goats.”

“That is outrageous!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Everyone should be allowed to walk about as they will without being...property. Wait, is that why you're walking so close to me?”

“Sure, why not. Safety in numbers and all,” Crawley said absently before changing the subject. “You know, you're rather overdressed for a man. They don't usually cover their torsos like that, especially in summer.” Crawley pointed to the rectangular piece of creamy woven wool wrapped around Aziraphale's upper half, held in place by a long golden pin impressed with the image of wings, which the angel wore over the flounced and tufted sheepskin skirt that was styled to resembled feathers. “And the cloth's much too fine for a hunter. More sheepskin would have made more sense.”

“Listen, I have standards. This is not too fine for someone visiting the king's court. And. Well. If you must know...”

“Hmm?”

Aziraphale leaned in, dropping his voice. “Can't go about bare-chested so easily. I always forget to make nipples for myself and humans get very unfriendly if you don't have enough. Or too many. Or if they're in the wrong place. I just can't seem to get it right.”

“Why don't you just copy someone else's? I do that all the time.”

“Obviously I could do that, but it would be cheating. If I'm going to be thinking them up, I want mine to look like my own.”

Crawley arched an eyebrow before deciding to let Aziraphale off easy. “It was nicer when they didn't care so much about who was supposed to be what and how clothes were supposed to look on different people. I like to wear the clothes I like and look how I want to look, and not be beholden to human prejudices. I liked it better when they didn't care as much about what made a 'man' and a 'woman' different. In fact, I liked it better when they liked the 'woman' better and thought that that she was made first in the image of God, the way it was. Good times.”

”Oh, remember those long tunics? I rather liked those. The white ones with the golden embroidery. Everyone wore something that looked like that and never thought a thing about any differences to their bodies. And you couldn't tell anyone apart and that was nice. Now, it's all about being apart as much as possible in all sorts of different categories and it's always a guessing game what counts as a man or a woman among the humans. Or the right kind of man or woman. And making the wrong guess can be a lot of trouble, discorporating-type trouble. I have been in more than one mix-up that I had to miracle my way out of. It is awful hard keeping up with these trends.”

“Dreadful.” Crawley sneered.

“Absolutely.” Aziraphale walked in silence for a while before turning to look up at the demon. “But you know there is another thing that's good about traveling together? Besides safety.”

“Hmm?”

“Trading for a night of shelter uses the same measures of corn for two as it is for one! Less grain to miracle up and carry around and so forth. Do you know what a pain it is to drag around sacks of barley and millet and such to trade for things?”

“You should try these. Easier to carry.” Crawley pulled out a small leather bag from a hidden pocket, and handed it to Aziraphale. Inside were geometric beads, carnelians mixed with lapis lazuli, gleaming blood-red beads and dark blue-black beads the color of deep ocean water.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale gasped, delighted.

“The humans wear them as decoration and they're much sought-after. They're so valuable that sometimes you can even get an extra thing like a mule or a camel on top of whatever you're trading for. Here, take some.” With a gesture as if pulling it apart, the bag was now two smaller bags, and Crawley handed one over to Aziraphale. 

“I've seen people wearing strings of these stones but I never thought to trade individual bits for other things. Portable wealth! How very clever.”

“It's a prototype. These stone beads are pretty but they're hard to find and shape. Ever try making these blasted little holes with a sharp rock or a bit of metal? It's just unpleasant and pointy work for some poor artisan, bloodies up the fingers. See, I'm thinking of switching to metals; easier for humans to get at in the ground, doesn't take as much time to fashion into things, they're hot and nasty to work with, and they already cause a lot of trouble.”

Aziraphale patted the knife belted to his side. It was a finely bladed piece made of white quartzite with an ivory handle that he had been carrying since the Neolithic when it was at the height of fashion but then the Chalcolithic had slid by without him realizing he should switch to copper. Now that it was well into the Bronze Age, he seemed particularly backwards and provincial to fashionable city folk but it helped with his rustic disguise, not that he knew it at the time. “Truly I am not fond of all the new metal things. Especially bronze. The humans are getting very good at making it sharp and pointy and hurting each other with it. At least stone breaks after some point and it's a lot of trouble to make a new tool. Did you know I've never had this knife retouched? It's still sharp and has done awfully well for me, peeling apples and slicing up cucumbers and such. Once I even used it to scrape some leather, oh, that was so very fun!”

“Didn't you used to have a sword?” 

“That was different. That was forged in heaven. Not made by human hands,” Aziraphale said guiltily. “Say, what are you going to call this portable wealth?”

“I think I shall call it 'money'.”


	5. Civilization and Green Places Like the Garden

“So you're here to try to stop Gilgamesh, aren't you?” Crawley said looking up at Aziraphale, long skirts hiked up to wade across a canal. Crawley squinted at the bright noon light, the heat of the sun beating down hot onto the black robes.

“Only because you have been tempting him into all sorts of horrid things,” Aziraphale said indignantly as he walked alongside Crawley, bare feet pressed lightly onto the top of the water as if he were merely walking through a grassy meadow. “Why, the report from head office said all sorts of terrible, terrible things. What were you thinking?”

“Me? Trust me, I had nothing to do with it.” Crawley sloshed out of the canal and up the levee and was immediately dry, dropping the long skirts of the black robe down to cover tough calloused feet. “Got to town just after you, at a guess. Haven't been in Uruk for a while, a few years at least.”

“No? Then if it wasn't you, was it one of the others?” Aziraphale followed, catching up quickly, toes digging into the sunbaked soil of the levee.

“Nah. The humans can think up plenty of awful things without any of my lot whispering in their ear. So what's this Gilgamesh doing that's so bad?”

“He's cutting a swath through the countryside. No attractive young man or woman is safe from him. No unattractive ones either.”

“So what?” Crawley shrugged. “Let the humans have their fun.”

“Well, not everyone wants to be swathed.”

“Oh dear.”

*****

They sat resting together on a little mound of a hill that had once been a city before the Flood and had now returned to the clay from which it was made. Shards of ancient bone and pottery crept out of the soil here, and Aziraphale brushed aside the dust to find a worn bit of inscription that was no longer legible. Carefully, he scooped up some soil and covered it again, patting the ground and burying once more the lost past that could never be recovered.

In the distance, the broad band of the Euphrates crawled through the flat lands of the black-headed people in a slow and meandering trail like a shining inlay of lapis on a shield of malachite and gold. 

“You know what else is good about traveling with someone?”

“Hmm?” Crawley looked over at the angel, whose pale hair gleamed electrum in the ochre light of the setting sun.

“Hard to get a good table by yourself for dinner. And if you must know it's just not as much fun dining alone. With two of us, we could try different things. Some dishes are only served for two or more. I hear there's a place that does a nice pie made of wild water birds. I think they're called ducks. Oh, and another one that does a tasty roast gazelle.”

“Roast? I thought you were just supposed to swallow them whole.” Crawley smirked.

“Oh, now you're just teasing me,” Aziraphale smiled, nudging Crawley with his elbow in a friendly manner as he had seen humans do, and Crawley looked away, feeling an odd heat inside, embarrassed to be caught out.

However, Crawley didn't move away, but stayed close beside Aziraphale.

“So what are you doing here if you're not tempting Gilgamesh?” 

Crawley sighed. “If you must know, I'm supposed to be tempting the wild man Enkidu. Getting him out of the wilderness and into a town. Civilizing him.”

“Really?”

“Straight from the mouth of Beelzebub.” Crawley's mouth twitched into a frown and the angel noticed that Crawley did a lot of frowning. “Civilizing some poor bastard who wants nothing but to run around in the woods and eat wild foods and drink fresh water like in the good old days. You know, that's the real problem. Civilization. The ultimate evil. Makes my lot look like they don't know their business.”

“Well now, I don't know about that. It's not all that bad,” Aziraphale said. 

“Really now. Not that bad?” Crawley hissed. “Where's the Garden now? Trees chopped down for lumber, animals scared off – the ones that weren't killed and eaten, that is – and the great walls? Torn down to build ziggurats and terraces and palaces and more walls to wage war from.”

“That's not what happened to the Garden. I'd know. I can still feel it, and it's safe.” Aziraphale said softly. The angel was looking at something in the distance and Crawley's gaze followed in that direction, but there was nothing in particular there, just a glimmer of the distant Euphrates as seen through the distorted wavering heat of the day. 

“Really, if it's gone it has nothing to do with humans mucking it up.” Aziraphale pressed his hands to his chest, bowing his head. “The Garden is still intact. But it just...just sort of faded from the world as things changed. Its rivers are still here; I was just down the Tigris the other day, and Uruk is built on the Euphrates...” Aziraphale sighed. “I just don't know where it is anymore. I don't imagine I'll ever get back to it. But if it helps to know, it's still there, wherever 'there' is.”

“And what's the difference? Chopped up or faded from the world? It's gone. We can't have nice things with these humans around; they're just a lot of bother and trouble.”

“No, but we can't have nice things without them either,” Aziraphale said. “They do wonderful things. Like soup. And music. And they're always coming up with clever ways of putting different things together to make new things. Pretty things. Like these.” Aziraphale pulled out the the bag that Crawley had given him, spreading shining beads around his palm. “It is as if they have taken some colored stones and captured specks of the heavens with it, bringing out a hidden beauty that we never would have seen if these were merely rocks. Look, this one isn't even a stone. It's made from gold. Pounded flat and bent into the same shape as the other beads. It's all hollow inside.” Aziraphale plucked the gold bead out and handed it over to Crawley.

Their fingers brushed against each other. Crawley pretended to examine and be interested in the golden bead before handing it back to Aziraphale, letting fingertips linger. 

“Hmm. I suppose it's something.” 

“It's at least pretty, isn't it? Nothing we could have thought up in Heaven, and nothing that could be thought up in Hell. Humans are unique. Wonderful. Like flames burning brightly but briefly, trying to make something of themselves with that short amount of fuel.” Aziraphale's voice grew sad, remembering the horror he felt when he realized that human beings could and did and were in fact destined to die.

“Yes. I suppose you're right. It is beautiful.” Crawley sighed, but then stood up, offering the angel a hand. “Come on, time to go. Wilderness won't come to us, you know, got to keep moving. Smite the thigh and all that.” 

“Yes, of course.”

The angel's hand was warm and his grip was firm.

*****

The moonlit night made everything look cold and bright even as the heat of the day still lingered. Looking back toward the direction of Uruk, Crawley saw that there was only darkness across the land, though for a brief instant a distant light burned briefly before dying out moments later. The trail here was no more than a goat path, but the moon lit it like a pale thread sewn careless across a dark fleece. For lack of something to do they kept walking, though at a much slower and more sedate pace than before.

“So how long did it take you to walk to this place?” 

“About three days,” Aziraphale said. “Not walking all the time of course. A reasonable amount of walking. I tried to mostly do it in the cool part of the day but had to give that idea up fairly quickly since it's so far. It's a nice walk, I rather like it. Lots to see.”

“Yeah?” 

“Don't you travel too?”

“All over.” Crawley said, gesturing nonchalantly. “Wherever I'm supposed to go. And some places I'm not supposed to go either.”

“Oh? Have you been somewhere nice? I've seen some rather pleasant places myself.”

“Green places.” Crawley's expression grew soft and wistful in the pale light of the moon. The angel noticed, though Crawley didn't notice the angel. “Where the sky is a deep blue in the day and the sun's warm and everything is green, and clear water flows freely. Forests pressed up against mountains rising high to the heavens like a massive wall against the sky. And all the plants are so green and wet that it seems like they don't dare to shed a wilted leaf, for fear of marring that striking greenness.”

“Like the Garden,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Like the Garden," Crawley sighed. “You know. Sometimes. I wish...I hadn't caused so much trouble.” Crawley hugged the black robe tight as if to burrow into it, and in the darkness Crawley seemed no more than a shade, speaking in whispers from beyond the land of the dead, clothed in ashen feathers. “Made such a mess of things. Civilization and all that.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Aziraphale said. “After all, if it didn't happen the way it did...”

“Then there would have been no Flood.”

“True but.” Aziraphale caught Crawley's hand momentarily before dropping it quickly, remembering propriety. “Then there wouldn't have been fried fish or music or beads or soup or a thousand thousand other good things. Or us, right here and right now. We'd still be at odds.”

“As if we were never at odds?” Crawley turned away from the angel, face fallen into shadow.


	6. Night Came Soon Enough

“All right, now what?” The watering hole was unremarkable, just a spring flowing from a crack in the muddy earth. Reeds and scrubby trees grew nearby, nothing impressive, and they stood in the scant shade of one of those weak and bent trees, squinting at the bright midday sun.

“We wait.” Aziraphale said, pulling out his trusty quartzite knife. “And I build traps.”

“Are you really going to catch him? With a vine and a rock? And a bit of string?”

“Oh heavens no, this is just a diversion. I don't really think I could catch him with traps. But if I did, would that make it easier to tame him? Perhaps we could do that. I'll catch him, we tie him up, and-”

“He's supposed to be equal to the strongest human on Earth right now. I don't know about you, but I don't think I could tie up even the second strongest human on Earth, or the third. I don't think both of us could, combined.”

“Yes, well. I suppose that would be out of the question. Though, it could happen miraculously?”

“You know I'm all for breaking the rules, but anything that big might draw unwanted attention if something doesn't go the way they want it to go,” Crawley said. “Something this big that they sent both of us on the same man is bound to draw some attention if we try to miracle our way through it.”

“Oh dear, you're right.”

Night came soon enough and this close to the open desert, it grew cold quickly despite the heat of the day. Crawley huddled in the hollow among tree roots, shivering.

“Shall I build a fire?”

“Nah,” Crawley said, straightening up. “I'm all right,” Crawley shivered. “Absolutely fantastic.”

“But you're cold.”

“Rather be cold than...” And the rest of it was mumbled, so Aziraphale couldn't tell what had been said.

“Sorry?”

“I said, 'Grk mrpgh grrgh muh,'”

“...all right. I understand. But I can assure you that a fire will be fine because over the years I have learned a trick. You see, I know why you won't say anything. It's because when a fire appears in nature, like from a thunderbolt or a volcano, they can use it communicate with us. Head office, that is.”

Crawley mumbled something rude, eyes glaring at the angel.

“What I've discovered is that humans have learned how to make fire on their own. And this handmade fire is not quote so easy for ethereal beings to use for communication. It's just fire.”

“Eh?” Crawley looked up.

“I remember back when humans were first using it, transmitting and spreading fire from heaven in little clay pots and stone vessels to keep it safe. That was a nightmare; head office peeking in any time they wanted to, yelling orders from clay pots and beaming instructions out of cookfire smoke and the like. But that was a long time ago and since then humans make their own homemade fire. Look.” 

Aziraphale pulled out some tools and gathered up some dried grass and broken branches. It took him several unsuccessful attempts and a lot of muttering and outright coaxing, but then the spark caught and he sat back with a grin, feeding the fire with sticks and more grasses.

“Success! Now come over and warm up while I get some water; we can heat it up and have a hot drink. I have been to the far east of Eden and there the humans have recently made a discovery that has improved water by steeping it with herbs. I don't have the exact herbs they use but I have learned to make do with the herbs of the field, like mint.”

“What is this drink?”

“I believe they call it tea.”

*****

The sky was clear but for a few wispy clouds that trailed like long pale bars, set straight across the sky. The fire had died down but they stayed close to the banked coals for its warmth, not for need as their bodies were strong, but for comfort as their bodies still had needs.

Then moon set, and the stars glowed brighter, like the fires of innumerable many camps in the sky. 

Aziraphale felt something in his throat catch. In the stillness when not even an animal stirred, the silence was profound and he thought that perhaps if he stayed still enough, he could hear it again, the music of the spheres, the heavenly harmony that had once suffused all of creation.

But the night was merely silent, and then he heard Crawley shift in the darkness.

“Say, do you miss it?” Crawley's voice was low but there was something artificially casual about how the words were said, and Aziraphale wondered why Crawley did not just say heaven. Aziraphale could not understand why; it wasn't as if he hadn't heard Crawley say it before.

“Honestly?” Aziraphale was silent for a long time. It was a question he had never dared to pose directly to himself, and the thought of it sent all sorts of contradictory feelings through his heart, piercing him to the core of his being. 

Crawley waited patiently for his response.

“No. I suppose I don't miss it all that much.” Aziraphale voice was barely a whisper. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” And then he felt like a fool and an unintentionally cruel one too. 

Crawley said nothing.

“Sorry. Shouldn't have asked that-”

“Look at the stars. That nebula over there, I helped build that one.” Crawley pointed.

“Me too. I remember that. Strange, I don't remember you.”

“Nor you.”

“A lot of us on the job that day, ” Aziraphale suggested.

“Oh yes. Awful big job. Say, Aziraphale, speaking of jobs, haven't you wondered why we've both been sent on the same one?” And Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief to be talking shop instead.

“Of course I wonder, but you know. It's best not to question it.”

With a rustle of cloth, Crawley suddenly stood, a tall black shadow among black shadows and Aziraphale suddenly remembered that Crawley was a demon, not just another angel.

Crawley paced, circling the angel.

“I think we're here because no matter what we do, the outcome is going to be the same. Haven't you noticed that sometimes good can come from evil actions just as evil can come from good intentions? No matter what we do, it's all coming out the same in the end; the humans don't need our interference and intrigues tugging them one way or the other.”

“I don't know...”

“Our side wants to take down Gilgamesh. Yours wants to take him down too. It's all a matter of notches, just how many notches either side wants to take down and the fractions of all those notches just get smaller and smaller and the difference is practically nothing and...never mind, this is stupid.” Crawley suddenly sat back down again.

In the night time sky, the stars burned brighter than the banked coals beside them and Aziraphale wondered why he didn't have an answer.


	7. A Single Bird Soared

The bushes rattled ominously and Aziraphale jumped up.

“All right. Well, off to it and good luck. I'll be back in a week. A fortnight. Goodness, I don't recall exactly...”

“He's not here. You can come back. That was just a lion or an aardvark or something. Who knows. Some kind of beast of the field, but not the one we're looking for.”

“Right.” Aziraphale sat back down guiltily.

“You're not in a hurry to get away, are you?” Crawley stayed by the fire to stay warm, eyes careful not to stare too deeply at its burning depths.

“No, whatever makes you say that? It's not like I'm disobeying all orders by accidentally being the traveling companion of one of servants of the Adversary and you know upon further thought I should really be going...”

“Unless,” Crawley strove to look sincere, “you consider that perhaps you're keeping an eye on me while I'm keeping an eye on you.”

“W-well, that is certainly a possibility. Seems that no one could fault me if I was trying to thwart your wiles?” Aziraphale paused. “...wait a minute are you trying to tempt me?”

“You did it first. Back in Uruk.”

“I did not!” Aziraphale was indignant. “It was merely a figure of speech.”

“That would be funny though, wouldn't it?” Crawley said with the hint of a smile. “If you were the one doing the tempting and not me.”

“No, that's not funny at all...”

“What, tempting a demon into doing good? Sounds to me like you'd be up for a commendation. Get promoted. You think there's an opening up in the Powers?”

“Very funny.”

*****

“I see you've finally given up on the trapping.” Crawley was lying on a miraculously soft patch of grass, head resting on one arm. The morning was sunny and warm in the most pleasing way, not hot at all, and the patch of grass was softly shaded by a grove of young wispy trees.

Aziraphale flopped down beside the demon and it seemed that the miraculously soft patch of grass was bigger than it appeared before. “There's only so much one can do, especially since he keeps tearing them up. Ur wasn't built in a day, you know!” 

“Thrilling.” The demon sounded bored, but when Aziraphale looked over, the demon's eyes were closed, breaths coming slow and comfortably.

“We don't need rest,” Aziraphale said to himself, as if reciting the lines of a manual. “Nor food nor drink, like the humans do. Not even breathing if we don't want to. Though it helps, I suppose and is optional and not mandatory.” 

Curious, he reached his hand over Crawley, careful not to touch anything, not a curling strand of dark hair nor the woven edge of the black robe. Aziraphale's hand cast a shadow over the demon's pale face, but nothing seemed to happen; Crawley took no notice. It seemed that the demon was somehow unconscious.

“How strange and very much like a human to be asleep,” Aziraphale said to himself softly. “Good and evil don't sleep or need rest. But if you didn't know any better, wouldn't it be lovely to lie down here like this? And close your eyes, and let your thoughts wander?” Glancing at Crawley he laid down by Crawley's side, far enough so that they wouldn't touch by accident, but close enough to stay on the grass. Straightening his clothes out beneath him, he settled down with one arm resting beneath his head.

It was nice here in the shade, with the warming sun and the leaves moving, shifting the pattern of shadows all around in a moving mosaic. The wind rattled the tall reeds. Swaying with the leaves and the rushes, birds sang cheerful songs, chattering their gossip and quarrels in a language only they knew. 

Clouds floated by, serene and stately, and above, a single bird soared high above in the sky and Aziraphale felt his breath catch.

*****

“Should be here any minute. Aren't you going to go? It's not safe for you to stick around.” Crawley looked at afternoon sunlight passing through the woven cloth of the black robe so that it cast a fine grid of regular shadows onto the ground.

“I suppose I had better pack up,” Aziraphale said, strapping his knife to his belt. “There, all done.” But he didn't move, staying by Crawley's side, fingers stroking the soft grass.

“What are you going to do after this?” 

“I don't know. Do some more traveling I suppose, until they give me a new assignment. What about you?”

“Same. Probably time to go back to Egypt, I think.”

“I like Egypt,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Me too,” Crawley said, expression growing soft. “Things change so slowly there. Would be nice walk around Egypt, see all that green walled off by the desert. Hear that song again.”

“Yes. It would,” Aziraphale said, feeling some unspoken emotion tremble at the memory of the song, but whether it was because of their time together at the tavern or the quality of the harper's voice or what had happened in Abydos hundred of years ago, he couldn't tell.

“Wish it wasn't so hard to hear songs. Wouldn't it be nice if you could hear one any time you wanted to? Some things you only ever hear once and that's it. Gone, just like that, like a cloud in the wind. And the next time someone else plays it, it's different and not the same. Once the song's over, that moment's gone for good.”

“That would be lovely to have music any time,” Aziraphale sighed. 

“You should probably go,” Crawley suggested politely.

“I should probably go.”

And still, the angel did not move.

*****

The sudden rattling in the bushes was definitely much more ominous today than the previous night. Crawley sniffed inquisitively and then a long forked tongue slipped out, tasting the air.

“He's here. I can taste it. Smell it. Whatever. He's coming. You should go. You don't want to see this.” Crawley stood up, concentrating and squaring slender shoulders. “In fact, I don't want to see this.” Crawley drooped.

“I know what my orders are but I can't leave you alone in the wilderness like this! And I don't like the idea of what that horrid human is going to do to you!”

Crawley took a deep breath. “Orders are orders. I'll be fine, don't worry about me. It's nothing I don't already like.” Crawley stepped forward to slip out of black woolen clothes, untying the knotted belt below the breast before tossing the robe aside in one decisive motion, exposing lean sinuous curves. Without turning back to look at the angel, Crawley spoke loudly, with a raised voice. “Now go, angel. It's too dangerous for you to be here. You could get discorporated.”

“Crawley!” 

“I said, go!”


	8. Letter to Mr. Anthony J. Crowley

Dear Mr. Crowley,

Your submission to The Journal of Modern Cuneiform Translations, “The Diary of Shamhat: A New Translation”, has been rejected. Our underpaid graduate student who is forced to read all the submissions from non-scholars, ancient aliens conspiracy theorists, and other whack jobs has determined that your article does not meet our journal's high academic standards, though we have posted a copy in the faculty lounge as a point of conversation and have privately distributed copies to our colleagues in the quarterly newsletter as this year's Best of the Worst: Weird and Wacky Tales from The Journal. The only thing your article has been good for is as a cautionary tale to undergraduate and graduate students alike on how not to be a serious academic. Please note the following concerns:

  * There is no introductory text. Please check our journal submission guidelines.
  * There are no references or citations. Please check our journal submission guidelines.
  * The material in question is from a private collection whose provenance is unknown.
  * There is no record of this tablet existing in any known collection.
  * The text can be stylistically dated to the Third Dynasty of Ur and is supposed to be a copy of an older work, presumed to be dated to sometime between 2800 and 2500 B.C.E. during the reign of the mythical king Gilgamesh. It is possible to date it from such such a small sample as portions of it read as if it is cribbed from existing works including but not limited to The Descent of Ishtar. 
  * According to the crumpled and coffee-stained post-it attached to the translation, only the transliteration exists as the original tablet was destroyed in an accident in the late 19th century. 
  * Then it is stated that the transliteration was damaged/destroyed in the mid 20th century after someone 'spilled coffee' on it. 
  * While this is described as a new translation, there are no old ones that can be used for comparison.
  * The text cannot be confirmed independently for accuracy or correctness by any other scholar. 
  * While there have been references to a “Diary of Shamhat” since the graffiti found in the margins of the works copied in the scribal schools of the First Dynasty of Uruk as well as in Assyrian school exercises, and a text quoting the diary with the line “Fornicating can be fun” was found on a fragment of a tablet in the Library of Ashurbanipal, contemporary scholars have for many decades argued that any translation of a supposed complete (or mostly complete) diary is most likely to be a modern forgery.
  * Which you would have known if you were an actual academic.
  * Lastly, a bookseller in London's Soho District is not a reliable source, no matter how long the bookstore has been in the same family business.



We are returning your original copy of your translation but we are keeping the post-it to hang with our copy in what we like to call the Museum of Shame. We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. Please do not write us again. Any future correspondence from you will be burned.

Regards,

The Editors of The Journal of Modern Cuneiform Translations


	9. The Diary of Shamhat

**The Diary of Shamhat**

At last I have found a suitable reed! At last!  
There is plenty of mud to go around.  
At last I have reached over far enough to grab a suitable reed! At last!  
This was not easy since we have been continuously fucking for hours  
At last I have made a clay tablet! At last!  
Did not know you could get both hands free during copulation  
But when it's been going on long enough,  
Sometimes you can just do something else for a while  
At last I can do something else with myself! At last!  
Awful hard to write while fornicating though  
But I will manage.  
Where did that angel(?) [. . . . . . . . . .]  
. . . . . . . . . .  
The wild man Enkidu is as huge all over,  
And as hairy as they say.  
Hair all over but not exactly all over  
Did I mention that he's huge all over?  
Because I mean all over  
Yes, that all over  
Specifically in the southern district of all over.  
May never be able to walk again.  
[gap of approximately 2 lines]  
Fornicating can be fun  
Honey-sweet and highly enjoyable  
Lots of exciting options for copulation  
Once you bother making some genitals(?) for yourself.  
Or remember to [. . . . . . . . . .]  
Not like I haven't tried it before  
Or enjoyed it before  
But after the first ten or twelve  
Or thirteen or sixteen hours  
It's not as fun as the first few minutes  
Day two: It's definitely not as fun anymore  
[. . . . . . . . . .]  
It may never be fun again.  
Vigorously he sprouted  
So very vigorously  
Way too vigorously  
Too damn vigorously  
[corrupted text] again [corrupted text] again [corrupted text] and again  
[this goes on for approximately 7 lines]  
[. . . . . . . . . .] discorporated(?) if this keeps up much longer  
Oh no wait it got fun again  
. . . . . . . . . .  
Day three:  
Can no longer feel my legs.  
My city is destroyed,  
my house is wrecked,  
my children taken captive.  
I am a fugitive  
A sna[ke]  
A serpent in the grass by the watering hole  
Or a just a [. . . ]  
Whatever I am  
I know I am well and definitely fucked  
. . . . . . . . . .  
Can't tell what I am anymore  
Lots of effort holding this body together  
.. . . . . . . . . .  
. . . . . . . . .  
How many more minutes  
How many more hours  
How many [more days]  
How many [more weeks]  
How many nipples do [. . . ]  
Could use some soup.  
Day four: Did he say it was a fortnight or . . .  
I don't remember but it's already gone longer than I thought possible  
When will this end  
. . . . . . . . . .  
Day five: I resign myself to death  
I have not stood in days  
Woe, I am become a ghost!  
Sprinkle water for me,  
Strew flour for me,  
Set up resounding wailings for me,  
Sound the tambourine for me,  
Grieve for me,  
Dress in a one-ply garment for me,  
Weep before the [. . . ] and [. . .] for me,  
[ . . . . . . . . .]  
[gap of approximately 2 lines]  
It would be nice to get a sip of something hot.  
Is there soup in the wilderness?  
There is no soup in the wilderness.  
If only there was soup in the wilderness.  
But there is soup in Uruk-the-Sheepfold.  
There is soup in Uruk-the-Sheepfold!  
Mightiest of cities!  
Tastiest of soups!  
There is soup in Uruk-the-Sheepfold!  
Mighty tasty soup in Uruk-the-Sheepfold!  
[. . . . . . . . . .] soup [. . . . . . . . . .]  
Soup [. . . . . . . . . .]  
. . . . . . . . . .  
. . . . . . . . . .  
. . . . . . . . . . soup [. . . ]  
. . . . . . . . . .  
Day six: Still not done.  
Oh wait no just a minute I'm trying to [. . . ]  
[gap of approximately 3 lines]  
. . . . . . . . . .  
Finally stopped long enough  
To give him my message  
About Magnificent Gilgamesh's dreams  
Great Gilgamesh's dreams  
And how he should go to Uruk-the-Sheepfold  
Where Gilgamesh will love and embrace him as a wife  
God-like Enkidu was so pleased that he  
. . . . . . . . . .  
And embraced me once more with lust.  
At least he's gotten better at it but  
I think all my bones and sinews are broken and torn,  
I am ready to face the House of Dust.  
Day seven:  
[text ends here with nothing written in for day seven, the rest of the tablet is blank]


	10. Soup

“Well. That's done.” Crawley finally managed to limped up and immediately regretted it, wincing at a leg cramp, hobbling around in an awkward circle on wobbly legs as Aziraphale peeped out from behind a bush.

“Oh, thank heavens you're still alive!” Aziraphale clambered out of the bush, and began to take down some plain undecorated clay jars that were strapped to the back of a mule.

“If you count this as living, sure.” Crawley hissed. “Remind me, next time let the humans manage their own problems, I won't stand for that again. That was too much. Way too much. Who created that monster anyhow, or did he spring from the earth just like that? I should file a complaint. No, a formal grievance. Unsafe and unsanitary working conditions. You're lucky that he's off chasing lions. It will take me ages to wash the smell out. To wash everything out. I could miracle it away but I'll always know. _Always_. Best to start scrubbing now and not stop til the end of the world.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Aziraphale fussed, miracling it away without a thought as he set up camp. 

The now clean Crawley curiously patted the new robes of fine black linen that felt as soft and warm as sunlight and were perfumed with Egyptian lavender. Turning, Crawley caught a whiff of a delightful fragrance and brought a handful of curling locks of copper hair up for a sniff; the dark curling hair had been dressed and braided intricately, redolent with the scent of roses and myrrh. 

“Interesting. I didn't know linen could come in black.” Crawley said coolly, tossing back the braided hair and adjusting the robe over slim shoulders, settling into the new clothing with a pleased sigh.

“Why not? If a sheep can be black, why not a vegetable? Here, I brought you something to help you recover.”

“What's this?” Crawley stared. Aziraphale handed Crawley a heavy ceramic jar, carefully sealed with beeswax, and to Crawley's surprise it was hot to the touch.

“It's taken a minor miracle to keep it the way it was when it was first made but I brought you some soup. I'll make you some fresh bread too once I get a fire going. Learned how to do it back in Uruk. Nearly discorporated myself on the oven but it was worth it. That was quite a scorching lesson, I'm afraid, but at least the bread is good.” 

“Ah,” Crawley said. “Did you say Uruk?”

“Oh, yes. Did I tell you? While you were...on assignment, I walked all the way there and back. I was able to trade for some wine from the palace too. Well, perhaps 'trade' is too nice of a word for how I acquired it, but I have some wine if you'll take some. I think you'll like it much better than beer. I hope you'll like it much better than beer...”

Crawley felt unsteady legs buckling, but before the demon could fall, the angel reached out and steadied Crawley by the elbow.

“Oh, angel.” Crawley was astounded. “You didn't have to do all that...” 

Aziraphale waved it off. “Here, sit down. You're not fit to be walking around until you've eaten and rested...”

Crawley ran thoughtful fingers over the smooth curves of the jar, feeling warmth beneath cool fingertips, and watched as the angel lit a blazing fire.

*****

“Say, Aziraphale. What are they calling the Almighty these days?” Crawley asked, walking along the road at the left-hand side of the angel. Enkidu, who was now washed and dressed, with hair cut and combed and smelling of scented oils, walked at a distance behind them, following them back to Uruk.

“Inanna? Enki? I don't know, I think there are a lot of names for God. There have been and there always will be. It just changes with time and place and custom. Remember when it was The Great Mother? I thought that was a nice name.”

“I like it best when it is a song. No words, just a melody.”

“Or when it is words of heartfelt praise without a name...”

In the distance, the great city of Uruk rose high above the plain, its baked-brick walls gleaming, shining like the reflection of fresh water in the searing light of the sun, and the angel and the demon stopped along the road to point it out to Enkidu.


	11. Notes

Thanks to support from friends! sigmastolen, Elinekeit, and Kirkypet were all here to cheer me on through this. Special thanks to SheJackalArts for unintentionally naming the story during a conversation. And thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and reviewing! I really appreciate all the feedback and support.

Here are some notes on a few details from the story. A bonus chapter plus another story set in the ancient world is on its way.

**Chapter 1**

The character that Gabriel corresponds to in the Epic of Gilgamesh would be the trapper's father, who gives the trapper advice on what to do about Enkidu tearing up his traps and orders him to go to Uruk. The order of events is a little different in this story than in the Epic, as Aziraphale is acting on behalf of Heaven.

A cubit, specifically an Egyptian Common cubit, is 18.24 inches or 46.33 cm, which is to say, Aziraphale has a lot of dignity. 

Various translations say trapper, hunter, or both. At least one says 'notorious trapper' and another even says 'brigand'. I chose not to drag Aziraphale that hard. 

Gabriel is wrong; Shamhat is not a prostitute, at least not in how we define the word in a modern sense. In older textbooks, her role in society was called a 'sacred prostitute', someone who has sex with parishioners on behalf of and within the temple of Inanna (Ishtar). That traditional translation has been updated to harlot by more contemporary translators, because it is not prostitution in the modern sense of the word.

I based the format of the cylinder seal from this: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/1985.357.44/ (you can read more about cylinder seals on this page). 

Genesis 28:12 (“Jacob's Ladder”) describes angels as ascending and descending ladders between Heaven and Earth, which makes the TV series depiction of Aziraphale and Crowley going up and down escalators from Earth to Heaven and Hell a rather nice touch. 

**Chapter 2**

Most of the story is based on the first tablet in the Epic of Gilgamesh. Shamhat and the trapper continue to make appearances through Tablet II and are mentioned later as well.

The Ram in a Thicket is a very famous pair of sculptures from Ur, one of which is in the British Museum: https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=368265&partId=1

In the Epic, Gilgamesh as ruler of Uruk is credited for building the baked-brick walls of Uruk among other major civic improvements. The significance of baked-brick is that unlike regular mudbrick, baked-brick would have needed firing. In a place like Mesopotamia where there was not much fuel, this would have been a very expensive project. Quality wood for building had to be imported (e.g. the cedars of Lebanon) and even stone had to be brought in from large distances, making it unfeasible for significant building. However, if there's something Mesopotamia has a lot of, it's clay and mud. Regular mudbrick, which is mud and straw/plant material mixed together, dried in the sun, and then built up into walls has a tendency to fall apart over time and rain, which lead to cities mounding up into big hills over the centuries. Often, in the Middle East, including regions like Anatolia, if something is a “Tell” (Arabic term meaning 'hill') it is an artificial hill that was once a city. Some of these Tells are absolutely massive, having been inhabited almost continuously for thousands of years. 

Mudbrick is so significant that it symbolized people's place in the world/society and formed the basis of human creation (you can read more about this in the Babylonian flood myth).

There were great mound cities in North America at this time, and extended beyond the Ohio River Valley. In fact, there are many famous “Serpent Mounds” in North America.

The tavern is modeled loosely on a generic house of its time. Chairs were probably not available to ordinary people since wood was so valuable (see above), though depictions of Mesopotamian banquets usually includes these low-backed chairs. I like the idea of chairs and tables though (and so does Aziraphale) so they get to stay. It's sort of a reference to the idea of setting out feasts for the gods, which was done daily at temples. 

I found some useful sources online for details about Mesopotamian food: http://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/1349279/1/454702_vol1.pdf  
https://www.nytimes.com/1985/05/15/garden/mesopotamia-cradle-of-haute-cuisine.html  
and a recipe for pie: https://medium.com/@writingben/ancient-cooking-recipe-1-sumerian-wild-fowl-pie-bb81f8fb726c

There is a lot written about beer and bread in the ancient world. I won't go into it here, but it's worth looking up. Both Mesopotamia and Egypt have similar traditions.

The soup bowl is based on this sherd: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/1985.61.2/

Here is my original note that I omitted from the story: The soup is an Ancient Near Eastern rendition of the famous Scottish soup Cullen Skink. Though skinks had already been invented (and had survived the Flood, mostly by not being near the Flood), Scotland had not yet been invented. 

Crawley, or later, Crowley, would always have a fondness for soups like Cullen Skink and soup in general. 

Is this a real soup from Mesopotamia? I don't know, I'm not an expert. This was just based on available ingredients, so it's possible?

**Chapter 3**

The delineation between childhood and adulthood has until modern times been blurry. The definition of a child varies throughout culture and history, and on top of that we don't know for sure how Crowley or Aziraphale would define a child. In fact, some historians argue that the notion of childhood is a modern concept (at least in the west). Which really explains those ugly medieval babies that look like weird mini-adults.

It's never clear whether that really was the real Shamhat or if Crowley even knows. Your guess is as good as mine.

I think the Flood was a major turning point in how Crowley viewed obedience to authority. I have some ideas why this is not necessarily the case with Aziraphale.

By the way, mistakes were made on my end (gdi BC), so I changed the amount of time since Aziraphale and Crowley had heard the harper's song from 400 years to 200 years.

The Song of the Harper is an actual song from Ancient Egypt. The translation comes from Everyday Life in Ancient Egypt by Jon Manchip White ( https://tinyurl.com/y3r5ye9u ) and is also quoted in Eugen Weber's The Western Tradition video series. Note that this is just one particular song of the harper – there are many more because it is a genre attested in funerary depictions in Egypt. I chose this since I couldn't find a Mesopotamian song I wanted to use (most were way too long). Egypt and Mesopotamia had by now been trading for hundreds of years, so it makes sense that something like a song might spread as people traded and traveled. 

**Chapter 4**

These canal and levee workers would probably have been corvée laborers, which means that they paid their taxes to these early city-states with their labor. Most major works in the Fertile Crescent including the pyramids were built by corvée labor (and not space aliens). 

Mesopotamian myths about the creation of man say that canal building was originally done by lower ranked gods (the Igigi) who then rebelled in a major labor dispute against higher ranked gods (the Annunaki) and so humans were created to do the drudgery. It's an interesting story. Look for the creation of man myth that's in the Babylonian Flood Myth, not the Enuma Elish.

The type of clothing Aziraphale is wearing was called kaunakes by the Greeks. You can read more about it here: https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/kaunakes/ I chose to not try to adhere to historical specificity with Crawley's clothes for certain reasons, imagining something that maybe splits the difference between the 3004 B.C. and 33 A.D. costumes, though with one specific detail about how the garment is closed so that it lines up better with the original text of the Epic of Gilgamesh. This was to place Crowley slightly out of time in contrast to Aziraphale. Note, if the TV series adhered closer to historical clothes, probably every man in the 3004 B.C. segment would be wearing some variation of a kaunake and perhaps be bare-chested (season-dependent).

The garment that Aziraphale rhapsodizes about with the golden embroidery is the kind that he wears in the beginning of episode 1 in Eden. It's from Heaven, which has nothing to do with humans and their fashions. 

I based the beads off of this necklace: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/33.35.48/ The originals are lapis and gold; carnelian was added for further symbolic value and contrast. At this time, the ancients did not have words to describe what we would now call 'blue'; if I recall correctly, lapis lazuli in general was thought by Mesopotamians to be more along the lines of what we might now call 'black' even though it comes in a variety of shades ranging from blue to black. There are lots of articles on this phenomenon regarding the interpretation of color in the ancient world online.

Some of the timelines of actual history and Good Omens “the Earth is 6000 years old” history obviously won't line up correctly, so there's always going to have to be some hand-waving here and there. 

Aziraphale's knife is very loosely based on the Gebel el-Arak Knife (also called The Master of Animals Knife) which can be seen in the Lourve. Of course, Aziraphale's knife is made from all white/near white materials. It's not known what the style of the knife is, because we have no idea where Aziraphale got it; it could be from anywhere on Earth since the late Neolithic. 

Retouching stone tools is how one resharpens an edge after it's gone dull. It would have taken an expert flint-knapper to repair, but Aziraphale has taken good care of it. While flint-knappers aren't as common now as they were back then, they're still around and stone tools are still being used. Notably, obsidian knives are way sharper than steel and are used as specialty surgical tools.

**Chapter 5**

Aziraphale and Crawley are sitting on a Tell.

See Chapter 2 notes for the pie recipe.

In the Epic of Gilgamesh, Enkidu is described as a wild man who is civilized and brought into the city, but then dies of an illness. I can't help but think there are some similarities to The Woman of San Nicholas Island or any number of other indigenous people who died of diseases they had no immunity from because they were brought into cities or other settlements. 

The biblical Tower of Babel is sometimes thought to have been something like a ziggurat writ large.

The rivers of Eden are listed in Genesis 2:10–14. 

“Smiting the thigh” is the one bit of Sumerian slang Crawley knows and Crawley will go on to use it for far too long. I read this saying in the Descent of Ishtar and it means something like, “let's get on with it”.

When Crawley is describing Eden, he is also describing his future flat. This is also an allusion to another important Green Place that no longer exists (see: eag writing adventures, 2015 to the present). 

A thousand thousand is a million, and really is only being used as a symbolic number, not a specific amount. Symbolic numbers are often used in the pre-modern world. We have a nice example of this concept from Eugen Weber who says in the Western Tradition: "Now, in the Middle Ages, numbers were more likely to be used symbolically as when people talked about armies of 100,000 or 200,000, or when they talked about tens of thousands slain in battle, when armies seldom mustered more than 15,000 or 20,000 at most. Numbers were often used to impress..." 

**Chapter 6**

The Epic of Gilgamesh describes Gilgamesh as the strongest man in the world, 2/3rds god, 1/3rd human, and Enkidu is supposed to be his equal and counterpart in terms of strength. Then, Genesis 32:22–32 describes a human (Jacob) wrestling an angel all night, and the angel basically had to cheat to win and still lost. While Jacob is supposed to be pretty strong, you'd think that angel could have done better, but apparently they do not even lift. So I don't think either Aziraphale or Crawley had any chance of winning a fight against Enkidu at all, even with miraculous cheating. 

According to annotations in the New Oxford Annotated Bible, “Fire was conceived to be the form of the divine appearance.” 

“Beaming instructions out of cookfires” is a parallel to the imagery of Crowley getting instructions beamed into him in his Bentley from the radio in episode 1.

Mint tea is still a very popular drink in the Middle East.

A wild anachronism has appeared! The concept of 'music of the spheres' and 'celestial harmony' are related to an Ancient Greek Pythagorean concept called Harmonia. You can read all about it in The History of Western Music by Burkholder et al. Or don't, it's a big book and there's really not all that much about Harmonia (like a paragraph? Two?).

Crawley is stumbling through some proto-calculus ideas here. Did he invent calculus? No, that would be Newton and Leibniz, but he sure helped invent LaTeX. 

**Chapter 7**

It's not an aardvark. Obviously.

Ur is a different city-state in Mesopotamia. 

SheJackalArts suggested the idea of the angels having some kind of 'manual' for their bodies in a conversation, and I thought it was a kind of cute idea. In fact, we can also thank SJA for suggesting the title of the series. Check out their art; they're on all the major social media sites with the same name and have some excellent and cute animal sculptures for sale, among many other things.

Up until the invention of recording, music was an ephemeral thing and a person might only hear a particular piece once ever in their lives. In many ways, music really still ephemeral; no reasonable person confuses a video for real life, just as a recording and a performance are not the same thing. You can get really close to capturing it, but it's not the same as being there live. Especially with digital recording formats such as mp3s that squash or clip overtones and harmonics out of the recording.

**Chapter 8**

The Journal of Modern Cuneiform Translations is made up.

This letter could have been written anytime from 1979 onwards. At one point I thought about setting this letter in the 1950s or 60s.

Ooh, self-burn! Those are rare. I did borrow some lines from various texts found in The Harps that Once...: Sumerian Poetry in Translation by Thorkild Jacobsen, most of which are from the 3rd Dynasty of Ur. Since according to this story they predate the texts, perhaps Crowley was the originator of some of this lovely language (as in the Shakespeare scene). More on this later.

Ishtar = Inanna. Jacobsen calls it “Inanna's Descent” but I chose the more traditional “Descent of Ishtar” because it would be more familiar. The difference in names is roughly analogous to Greek and Roman names for the same gods, whereas here it is Sumerian vs. Akkadian/Assyrian. 

While researching this story I found a very early fanfic in From Distant Days: Myths, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia by Benjamin R. Foster called “The Gilgamesh Letter” which is from an Assyrian school exercise. It's a parody letter from Gilgamesh to some other king demanding ridiculous goods and services, like “70,000 black horses with white stripes” or “100,000 mares whose bodies have markings like wild tree roots” and “one nugget of gold...should weigh 30 minas, to the chest of my friend Enkidu.” 

**Chapter 9**

Most of The Diary of Shamhat is mine, but here is a list of poems in Jacobsen that I quoted from:

“Vigorously he sprouted” is the first line of an erotic poem of the same title whose content I'm sure can be guessed at.

The section “My city is destroyed...I am a fugitive” comes from “The Birth of Man”.

“Woe, I am become a ghost!” comes from a lament called “In the Desert by the Early Grass”.

The image of sprinkling water and flour for mourning comes from “Dumazi's Dream”.

The section “Set up resounding wailings...dress in a one-ply garment for me” comes from Inanna's Descent (aka the Descent of Ishtar). Apparently Sumerians lamented to the sound of a tambourine.

“Gilgamesh will love and embrace him as a wife” is paraphrased from the Epic of Gilgamesh. 

Finally, why does Crawley describe Enkidu as 'God-like'? In part, because Shamhat in the Epic says “You are beautiful, Enkidu, you are become like a god.” But mostly because Crawley got thoroughly fucked.

**Chapter 10**

Aziraphale's line about black linen and black vegetables is a very vague reference to the Vegetable Lamb of Tartary. 

I think Aziraphale just noped his way back to Uruk walking continuously in way less than 3 days and instead of spending the time worrying, he learned how to make bread, snuck in the palace and stole some wine, did some minor miracles on a jar of soup, and walked back. This jar will continually be filled with soup for some time (Miracle soup! Excellent soup!). It's cool though, that wine was probably put out as an offering for the gods, and it's not like he's stealing if it's already being put out there for ethereal beings...

One more bonus chapter to come! Thank you so much for reading, for the comments, and for all the kudos. I really appreciate it.


	12. Bonus Chapter: The Plant of Immortality

“Crawly, no! What are you doing?” Aziraphale shouted, finally catching up to the snake by the side of a spring.

_Nrgh ergh grgh_? But then the snake's head gave a shake and a moment later Crawley shook out of the form of a serpent and stood on two legs. Crawley spat something into one hand; it was the thorny herb from the deepest depths of the sea, the one called _Plant of Heartbeat_ , hard and crystalline like a coral yet exuding a strange, dizzying fragrance once it came into contact with air.

Its branching body throbbed softly in Crawley's hand, warm and inviting, and it was so heavy and dense that it made Crawley wonder if it had been created in the iron heart of the planet itself. Crawley tasted the aroma in the air with tongue and nose; it was a scent had been never smelled before on Earth and would never be smelled again after today.

Pricks of blood stood briefly at Crawley's lips before disappearing as a forked tongue licked them away. But the demon brought the herb back up to blood-tinged lips again anyway.

“You can't!”

“I can and I will. Just watch me.”

Aziraphale lunged, but was too late; Crawley had swallowed the mysterious herb. They tumbled into the obscuring dust. 

“Ow.”

“Ouch.” 

“You all right?”

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Never better. The only thing bruised is my pride. Though not as badly as yours should be. You're too slow Aziraphale; don't wait for a person to do something before jumping in. Jump first.” Crawley helped Aziraphale up onto his feet and they dusted themselves off. “Can't tell if anything's changed, can you?”

“Doesn't seem to have? But you shouldn't have. Oh, you really shouldn't.” 

“Can't let him try it on some poor bugger. Certainly can't let him eat even a little of it, he's been king long enough. You think you want another generation of Gilgamesh as the ruler of Uruk? I refuse to go find him another wild man, my hips are still not what they used to be.”

“I know that!” Aziraphale's temper flared, and Crawley flinched, surprised. “But that didn't mean you had to eat it!”

“Well, I couldn't have thrown it away, could I? What if someone took it? Besides, there's not much I could have done with it. Can't take it to Hell, someone might get ideas. Can't give it to you, someone in Heaven might get ideas. You might get ideas. Besides, we're made of much stronger stuff than humans. I'm sure I'll be fine.”

“But we don't know what it could do to you. You could have been discorporated. And besides, you're already immortal. What if...?”

“What if it makes me more immortal? I don't know about you, but eternity is still eternity; it isn't that much longer once you add one to it or sixty, or even three thousand six hundred.”

“But what if you multiplied it? Say by two.”

“Still eternity.”

“Doesn't that get you a bigger eternity?” 

“How much bigger? It's still eternity. Not something we can properly fathom. Eternity is just that. Eternity.”

“Hmph. I suppose you're right. We'll just have to wait to find out how this plays out.”

“Hmph.” Crawley stood and stared at the angel, who stared back at him. They stood in awkward silence.

“Suppose,” Aziraphale began, and Crawley arched a curious eyebrow. “Suppose we go get a bite to eat? I saw some nice pomegranate trees nearby with ripe fruit. Maybe we could go fishing...”

“Not too peckish right now but I always like a bit of good fruit. Have you had a pear? Those are... Oh no, wait. That's not good.” Crawley took a step backwards, looking gray. “Something's wrong.”

“Wrong? What do you mean, something's wrong?”

“Oh, something is very wrong,” Crawley stumbled away on unsteady feet, Aziraphale scrambling to follow. “And if you don't get out of the way, I might accidentally discorporate us bo-” With a cry, Crawley sprang away from the angel and fell the the ground but before Aziraphale could react, a massive serpent thrashed about in agony in the place where Crawley had been.

“Crawly?! Are you all right?!” Panicked, Aziraphale fussed, but he knew there was nothing he could do; a miracle to save a demon, out in broad daylight under the baleful eye of Heaven was grounds for something far worse than a written reprimand and besides, Aziraphale didn't know what kind of a miracle it would take to help the serpent Crawly; supernatural plants were beyond his realm of knowledge.

_Ouch_. Crawly hissed, thick coils flexing and then relaxing. The snake managed to lift its head up to look at Aziraphale, looking as peeved as something with no actual facial expressions could look. _I'm all right. Just a brief ssstomach upssset. Odd, that. Feel fine now, not even a twinge. Funny thing though, everything's gone hazy..._

“Your eyes!” Aziraphale gasped; the snake's eyes were turning a strange milky pale blue, the color of the sky diluted by hazy clouds. A strange opaqueness quickly consumed its skin, covering gleaming obsidian and carnelian with a dull waxy sheen, and for a moment Aziraphale found himself praying that the demon was not about to be discorporated or worse yet, destroyed for daring to partake of the even more forbidden fruit of immortality.

_Can't see so well_... Suddenly Crawly darted away swiftly, slithering through the waters and between some boulders on the far side of the deep pool of the spring, disappearing into a crack in the earth. Aziraphale followed as best he could, feet moving lightly over the water, stumbling to catch up. There was a loud cry, a cry of suffering and anguish that chilled Aziraphale to the bone but a moment later Crawley was back, climbing out of the loose soil, tearing through a strangely patterned dry membrane with both hands, stepping out with a wiggle and a shake. 

“That. Was unexpected.” Crawley said, picking off a bit of clinging membrane from a bare and tender foot. Once more, Crawley patted off the dust, but this time the demon crouched down to examine the abandoned snakeskin, caught against the rough edge of a boulder.

“Crawley! What just happened?”

“I don't know.” Crawley stood up and felt at new clothes; they were made of the same black woolen cloth as usual. Whatever Aziraphale had miracled up for Crawley had disappeared entirely. 

A pang of regret. Jaw tight, Crawley pushed it aside, not allowing for any lingering feelings, any moment of sentimentalism. There was no time to feel strongly about anything. Loss was the inevitable outcome of the ineffable.

“Seems like I've shed my skin,” Crawley said, choosing to look at anywhere but Aziraphale, hands clenched.

“What was all that about?”

“Don't know, really.” Crawley sighed, shaking it off, throwing both hands into the air in a gesture of dismissal. “Something changed, I suppose. Inside. Felt...kind of too big for my skin there for a minute, if that makes sense?”

“I don't think I can understand it but I'll try-”

Without warning, Gilgamesh burst forth from the water roaring like a wild bull, a bronze sword in each hand and murder in his eyes, looming over the angels, fallen and otherwise, who flinched back from the sudden violent outburst.

Crawley's hand shot out reflexively in defense and then suddenly everything stopped.

Aziraphale peeked open his eyes and looked around. To his surprise, they were still corporated. Gilgamesh had stepped out of the water onto a flat stone, but even the water that had sprayed out seemed frozen in place, droplets hanging in the air, scattering and reflecting light all around them like a handful of clear jewels. A good-sized fish had flown out of the water in the carnage and was hanging in mid-air.

Aziraphale touched a drop of water, and it bounced slightly against the tip of his finger but stayed where it was. 

“Oh dear. What did you do?”

“I forgot about him,” Crawley said, looking embarrassed.

“I forgot about him too,” Aziraphale winced.

“No, I forgot about him first.” Crawley said, gravely embarrassed. 

As Aziraphale looked around, he noticed that the leaves of the trees and the rushes still swayed with the wind, and somewhere he could still hear birds singing. Just not immediately around the human, where the world seemed to have stopped.

“How did you do that?”

“Not sure,” Crawley said. “Just wanted him to stop, and he did.”

“Seems that perhaps you've stopped time. Just around here though, everything else around us is ticking along nicely. I didn't know we could do that.”

“I don't think we can. I however can.” Crawley said, bemused. “Must be some property of that herb. _Plant of Heartbeat. Old Man Grown Young_.” Crawley spoke the names as if to taste the each syllable on the tongue. “Wish I had split it with you. Would have been more useful that way. Or maybe not. Maybe it's better this way.”

“Oh no! You had best restart time, this can't be healthy. What if someone saw?”

Crawley checked, fine senses honed for any hint of discovery. “No one's looking. No one's been looking. So they don't know.” Crawley's voice was full of amusement. “Oh, they don't know a thing about it...”

“Just restart it and let him go, you can't leave him here like this.”

“I don't know how. No wait, I think I know how. Let me get this fish first, and we'll get out of the way, and let everything go back to what it was.”

“Crawley, no! You can't just-”

“You want me to let him discorporate the both of us? Just relax, angel. Leave it to me, I'll take care of it,” Crawley said, plucking the fish from the air and handing it to the angel. 

Rubbing together two free hands, Crawley strolled over and focused, concentrating hard on setting the human free. Droplets of water began to fall like rain onto the ground, very slowly at first and then with a huge splash, and Gilgamesh's began to speak, though his body was still frozen. “Serpent! Keep your slimy paws off my magic plant! I'll cleave you!”

Crawley made a face, gestured, and the human froze again.

“Slimy? Paws? Really?”

“You don't have paws now. You don't even have paws when you're a snake. And you're obviously not slimy at all.”

“Suppose you don't have to be a poet to be king of Uruk. You just have to feed the poets.” Crawley frowned. “Let me try that again. Hmmm, seems it's not immediate? Time is all going at different rates. Well, forward at different rates, some slower than the others, some faster. Nothing faster than the normal flow though, so that's good. Nice to know it can be adjusted, but shouldn't there be an automatic on or off capability? Probably need a bit of practice and more control over...oh heaven, he's loose. Run angel, RUN!”


	13. Notes to the Bonus Chapter

Snek mythology time! A serpent steals the plant of immortality/rejuvenation from Gilgamesh and sheds its skin in the original text. 

sigmastolen and I discussed the possibilities of incorporating Crowley into all sorts of different serpent mythology stories.

I'm following both the book and the TV series in naming conventions though in practice (when spoken) some distinctions wouldn't make much of a difference:  
Crawly = Serpent  
Crawley = Human form, up to circa 33 C.E.  
Crowley = Human form, circa 33 C.E. to present

Why C.E.? Long story short, it's A.D. without reference to religion. B.C.E. = Before the Common Era, C. E. = Common Era. This is the modern scholarly convention. I only followed B.C. in the text of the story to align with the show. It was a modest struggle not to add that extra E. 

This is from the last tablet, tablet XI of The Epic of Gilgamesh, and comes after the Flood Myth. I highly recommend reading it for your own interests because it predates the written biblical flood myth by well over a thousand years, and while familiar, is also very different.

Various translations have various names for the plant. I followed the translation and description by Anthony George, who describes it as a "plant-like coral" in the chapter commentary, which makes sense since it's described as a thorny underwater flowering plant.

For some deep thinking on the meaning of eternity (or infinity, as I'm choosing to interpret this as), check out Hilbert's Paradox on the Grand Hotel. 

Why 60 or 3600 (60 squared)? Because the Sumerians used a base-60 number system which is very useful for divisibility since 60 is divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 12, 15, 20, 30. This was later inherited by the Babylonians and then transmitted to the Greeks. It's why there are 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour and 360 degrees in a circle. More here: https://www.storyofmathematics.com/sumerian.html

There's a discrete vs continuous concept going with the time flow. Discrete meaning individually distinct, in this case like an on/off switch, and continuous like an adjustable dimmer switch. 

I thought that this might be a nice way to explain how Crowley can freeze people/time in the tv series, but at the same time not be able to freeze Enkidu and just have Aziraphale give the wild man a “nice dream”. For inspiration, we turn to snek mythology time!


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